WHAT CHILD IS THIS?

       

But you, Bethlehem Ephrathah,

Though you are little among the thousands of Judah,

Yet out of you shall come forth to Me

The One to be Ruler in Israel,

Whose goings forth are from of old,

From everlasting.  —Micah 5:2-5a

 

The birth of Jesus was no after-thought. Micah predicted that it would happen 700 years before it occurred. 

 

Jesus “began” in Bethlehem, but that was not his beginning. These are hard words to understand, until we know the whole story: Jesus was Emanuel—“God with us.” 

 

Micah said that Jesus’ birth would be announced at Migdol Eder (“The Watch–Tower of the Flock”)—identified as the Shepherd’s Field near Bethlehem, where shepherds were watching their flocks. It was there and to them that the angels announced “good news.”

 

It’s significant that the angels bypassed Jerusalem where the clergy held court. They also passed up Herod’s palace nearby—Herodium, his villa near Bethlehem—and appeared instead to shepherds in the fields who were, as Luke says, tending their flocks. It was no big deal; it was their job.

 

Shepherds got the word first; Micah saw it coming, 700 years before. 

 

No one back then would have thought that shepherds would be interested in spiritual things. They weren’t religious men; they were more like Owyhee County Buckeroos than the sanitized sheep men we associate with the story these days. 

 

The angel’s words were simple and clear: “Today in the city of David a Savior has been born for you; he is Christ the Lord. This will be a sign to you: You will find a baby wrapped in strips of cloth and lying in a manger.” 

 

“A Savior has been born for you.” That was the good news! “You’ll know him when you find a baby in a feed trough.” That was the sign.

 

And so the shepherds went off to search for the baby. They didn’t bother to look at Herod’s palace on the hill; there were no feed troughs there. They skirted the resorts, the spas and the lodges of the rich and famous and went looking for a stockyard or a feedlot or a cattle pen, or for one of the caves into which shepherds drove their flocks at night. 

 

They found the child near their field—they had no idea how near he was—in a damp and filthy cave, where Joseph and Mary, having been turned away from the inn, found shelter from the cold. 

 

And as the shepherds stood in wonder near the make–shift crib they must have asked the question that men and women, boys and girls have been asking ever since, “What child is this?”

 

Who is this child? This is Christ the Lord, God, up close and personal. 

 

The Old Testament hints of the fact that one day God would visit the earth. C.S. Lewis quaintly describes those hints as the leaves of the Old Testament “rustling with hope.” 

 

The story starts with a trickle, the way the Salmon River begins, originating near Stanley as a tiny rivulet that you can jump across with no effort, it soon grows into a sizable stream as the Stanley Basin tributaries—the Fourth of July Creek, Redfish Creek and others—flow into it. The Salmon flows on, joined by the Yankee Fork and East Fork of the Salmon, then the Pahsimeroi, North and South Forks of the Salmon make their contribution until by the time the Salmon reaches the Snake River its a magnificent and powerful river. 

 

So the gathering stream of revelation in the Bible grows wider and deeper as we trace it’s course through history until it finds it’s final form, not in a gigantic figure, but in the tiny form of a little child, whom the angels said was “Christ the Lord.” 

 

We may unknowingly overlook the vast significance of that name. Christ we know—the Greek form of the Hebrew word for “Anointed One,” or ”Messiah.” But the title conceals another gigantic truth: “Lord” is the word used by the Septuagint—the Greek translation of the Old Testament—for God himself. The angel was very bold: this child is not only the long awaited Messiah, the Consolation of Israel. This little one was nothing less than God.

 

T’was much that man 

was made like God before,

But that God should be made like man 

much more.     

 

—John Donne

 

What Child is this? He is the Eternal One. The Alpha and Omega, the one who stands at the beginning and end of human history. “The beginning of the past and the end of the future,” Ray Stedman said.

 

He created all things. He holds everything together, the force that keeps the universe from another Big Bang. He stands at the end of time to receive the universe back, because, Paul said, it was made for him. 

 

The Creator became a creature of time; the limitless God contracted to a span. The one whose hands created the universe put himself in our hands, entrusted himself to the human race, made himself incredibly weak and vulnerable—to bring us salvation. 

 

Salvation! That’s the word that got the shepherd’s attention—and should get ours: “Today, in the city of David, a savior has been born to you.”  We all know without being told that we need a savior. The question has always been, “Where shall we find him?"

 

The shepherds found him nearby—an easy thing it was to find him. I hope you’ve found him too. If not, I hope you’re still seeking him. Wise men and women do, you know.

 

If you’re seeking a savior, I can tell you where to find him. He's not in our culture, devoid as it is of any indication that he was born. 

 

Not to worry, however: he’s still very near: “You’ll find him wrapped in swaddling clothes and lying in a manger.”

 

David Roper

12.18.17

Taste and See

Breathe the air, drink the drink, taste the fruit, 

and resign yourself to the influences of each. 

—Henry David Thoreau

"Taste and see that the LORD is good! Happy are those who take refuge in him" (Psalm 34:8).

One winter morning when Carolyn and I were at Shepherd's Rest, our place of respite in the mountains, I was sitting in my rocking chair by our patio door, lost in thought—when I felt eyes upon me. I looked down and saw a young fox in the snow on our doorstep, staring up at me. She was as still as a stone. 

Some days before, I had seen her trotting at the edge of the woods, looking anxiously over her shoulder. I went to the kitchen, got an egg from the refrigerator and rolled it toward the place I had last seen her. After a moment or two she darted out of the trees, picked up the egg and rushed back into hiding.

Each morning I placed another egg on the edge of the woods, and each time she ventured out just long enough to pick it up. Then she ran back into the trees. Now she had come on her own to our door, convinced, I suppose, that we were "good."

Carolyn, commenting on the incident, said it reminded her of David’s invitation: “O taste and see that the Lord is good.” Do you want to know that God is good? Just taste him and you'll see.

But how do you "taste" God? He is pure spirit. He cannot be seen, felt, smelled, heard, or tasted, can he?

Ah, but he can. He can be “tasted” by taking in his Word. Take up the Gospels, the first four books of the New Testament, and read the stories of Jesus one by one. Ponder them. “There are glories for the eye there, and pleasures for the ear,/ The senses reel with all they feel/And see and taste and hear" (Ella Wheeler Wilcox).

Jesus answers the question, “What would God be like if he visited earth,” for Jesus is the invisible God made visible for all of us to see. "No one has ever seen God. It is God the only Son, who is close to the Father’s heart, who has made him known” (John 1:18 NRSV). 

How can we deny his goodness when we see him taking on human flesh, living the only good life worthy of the name, hanging on a tree, "bearing the blame," the sinless one, made sin for you and me. There, in the gospel you can"taste" the goodness of the Lord. 

Perhaps you’ve been conditioned by nature, experience, fad or failure to dread or distrust him. Don’t be afraid. Taste and see that the Lord is good.

Love bade me welcome: yet my soul drew back, 

   Guilty of dread and sin.

But quick-eyed Love, observing me grow slack

    From my first entrance in,

Drew nearer to me, sweetly questioning 

   If I lacked anything.

“A guest,” I answered, “worthy to be here! 

   Love said, “You shall be he.”

“I the unkind, the ungrateful? Ah, my dear, 

    I cannot look on thee.”

Love took my hand, and smiling did reply, 

   “Who made the eyes but I”

“Truth, Lord, but I have marred them: let my shame 

   Go where it doth deserve.”

“And know you not,” says Love, “who bore the blame?” 

   “My dear, then I will serve.”

“You must sit down,” says Love, “and taste my meat,” 

  So I did sit and eat. —George Herbert

David Roper

Going Light

With a boulder on my shoulder 

Feeling kinda older. —Springsteen

"Thus says the Lord: ‘Take heed to yourselves, and bear no burden on the Sabbath day…’” (Jeremiah 17:21).

The size and weight of the "burden" is not specified, but as we get along in years, most old folks will tell you, every vexation is hard to bear. We don’t have the wherewithal we used to have.

What burden rests on you today? An unfinished task, a difficult relationship, a lingering illness, a struggling child or grandchild, a tenacious sin, a memory that will not go away. Jeremiah’s instruction is to the point: Don’ t carry that burden on the "Sabbath day."

Israel’s Sabbath was one day in the week; our Sabbath is 24/7: Every day, all day we rest in what Jesus has done and is doing for us (Hebrews 4:10). Our Sabbath is like–forever!

“The Lord...daily (literally: day|day or day after day) carries our burdens, the psalmist assures us (68:19). Come to Him, each day, all day each burden bearing. All your anxiety—leave it there!

All your anxiety, all your care,

Bring to the mercy seat, leave it there,

Never a burden He cannot bear,

Never a friend like Jesus.

https://youtu.be/eIdtTQMVqEw

David Roper

12.4.17

Gentle Persuasion

"Be prepared to make a defense to anyone who asks you for a reason for the hope that is in you; yet do it with gentleness and respect" (1Peter 3:15).

“At some point one stands perplexed, above all at the sight of human sin, and…wonders whether to combat it by force or by humble love. Always decide: ‘I will combat it by humble love.’ Loving humility is a terrible force: it is the strongest of all things, and there is nothing else like it” (The Orthodox Way by Kallistos Ware).

The Puritans were right when they enunciated the principle of consent. Faith can never be foisted on another. Consent must be gained by humble love and gentle persuasion.

Matthew said of Jesus, quoting an Old Testament prophet, “He will not quarrel or cry out...” (Matthew 12:19). The word translated “quarrel” means to “to wrangle” and is used to describe Jesus’ calm, quiet demeanor in contrast to the bitter acrimony of those who opposed him. Discussion and rational debate is one thing; discourtesy and rancor is another. When we resort to anger and abuse we lose our moral and rational force and eventually our audience. 

Philosopher Dallas Willard put the matter well I think: "We should be "simple, humble, and thoughtful as we listen to others and help them come to faith in the One who has given us life." This is what Paul calls fighting the “good (beautiful) fight” (2 Timothy 4:7). [Of the two words for “good” in the Greek language, Paul here uses the one that means “winsome.” ]

In our enthusiasm to give our faith away we must never resort to severity. The good news only sounds good when it’s announced with good manners. 

Yet in my walks it seems to me,

That the grace of God is in courtesy.

—Belloc

David Roper

One in Ten

"Then one of them...fell on his face at Jesus' feet, giving him thanks."—Luke 17:15,16

Years ago Carolyn and I were chatting with a young man about something or other—I've forgotten the content of the conversation—when he made a comment I’ll never forget. Apropos of something Carolyn said, he scoffed and announced, "I don't write little thank-you notes." It was, I thought, a good summation of the ethos of his generation. 

I am learning not to expect too much from folks these days, especially young folks. It’s possible to pour a good deal of energy, expense and time into them and receive no gratitude for our efforts. 

There are a few folks in the world who are truly thankful and we’ll get to hear from them from time to time, but if The Tale of the Ten Lepers means anything at all it suggests that only a few—one out of ten by Jesus' estimate—will thank us. The others will be silent at best. Some will be outraged that we did not meet other needs to which they felt entitled.

Here's the thing: We should never expect to gain from others what God alone can give. Our task is to give and leave the consequences to Him. Jesus said, "Give and it will be given to you. Good measure, pressed down, shaken together, running over, will be put into your lap. For with the measure you use it will be measured back to you" (Luke 6:38). 

I'm not sure that I know what it means to be compensated in "good measure"; perhaps it's that wonderful sense of well-being that comes from doing what God has asked us to do. But I do know that someday His “well-done” will echo throughout the universe, and that's the only gratitude that matters in the end.

David Roper

11.27.17

Afterthought:

C. S Lewis, stating the obvious, points out that there’s really only one person in the universe I can do very much about—myself. While I cannot change others I can, by God’s grace, begin to change myself. I can become a more grateful man.

Omri and Ozymandias 

I met a traveller from an antique land

Who said: "Two vast and trunkless legs of stone

Stand in the desert. Near them on the sand,

Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown

And wrinkled lip and sneer of cold command

Tell that its sculptor well those passions read

Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,

The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed.

And on the pedestal these words appear:

'My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings:

Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair!'

Nothing beside remains. Round the decay

Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare,

The lone and level sands stretch far away."

—Percy Shelley

"The righteous will...be remembered forever" (Psalm 112:6).

Carolyn asked me what I was doing. “Thinking about Omri,” I said. 

“Who was Omri?”, she replied. Exactly! 

From a historical, political standpoint, Omri was the most notable of Israel’s kings. Ancient Near East monuments remark on his military and political genius and for two hundred years after his death, Israel was known among the nations as “Omri–land.” 

Yet Omri is given only eight verses in the Bible and the historic assessment of his achievements is that, like Shelly's Ozymandias, other than a few pieces of broken pottery, "nothing beside remains” (1Kings 16:21-28).

 

Few things remain in this life it seems, apropos of which a friend of mine once asked me to name: 

• The five wealthiest men in the world. 
• The last four Heisman trophy winners.
• The last three winners of the Miss America contest.

Then he asked me to name…

• The person who brought me to faith.
• Two people who have walked with me through dark hours.
• Three people who have loved me through the years.

These are the men and women who "will be remembered forever." Theirs is the fruit that remains (John 15:16).

David Roper

11.24.17

Weariness

"Jesus, wearied as he was from his journey, was sitting beside the well. It was about the sixth hour [high noon] " (John 4:6)

I have a well-established circadian rhythm. I'm good for the first six to eight hours of the day, but from 2:00 to 5:00 p.m. I'm toast. 

I'm in good company, however: I read somewhere that animals, plants and even fungi have a few bad hours every day. 

I'm inclined to feel guilty about my weariness. Shouldn't I be doing something useful: studying, writing, teaching, counseling? Is my apathy a sign of spiritual acedia?

Not necessarily.

Some years ago a few of my friends began wearing bracelets bearing the initials "WWJD," an acronym for "What would Jesus do?" I ask myself, what did Jesus do when he was weary? 

Well, on at least on one occasion, he passed up an opportunity to go into the city of Samaria with his disciples to heal the sick and raise the dead. He stayed by a well outside of town and rested. 

And Jesus wasn't eighty-four years old!

I've always been intrigued by the story of Elijah sitting under his little broom tree. Over-adrenalized by his encounter with the Baal priests on Mount Carmel, frightened out of his wits by the contract Jezebel put on his life, he fled into the desert where the Angel of the Lord found him, weary, dispirited and ready to take his own life.

And what did the Angel of the Lord do? Chide him for his lethargy? No, he fed him a square meal and put him to sleep (1Kings 19:4-8).

Sometimes, the most spiritual thing we can do is to take a nap. 

This weariness of mine, may it not come 

From something that doth need no setting right? 

Shall fruit be blamed if it hang wearily 

A day before it perfected drop plumb 

To the sad earth from off its nursing tree? 

Ripeness must always come with loss of might. 

The weary evening fall before the resting night.

—George MacDonald

David Roper

11.19.17